


海外

by little8 (rewindmp3)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, they're just two tender boys who may or may not be in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewindmp3/pseuds/little8
Summary: “perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition"– james baldwin
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 15
Kudos: 114
Collections: BBBFest Debut Round: The Bittersweet Option





	海外

Minghao should be home. It’s almost New Year’s and he should be home, but instead, he’s sitting in an empty dance studio, lights dimmed, staring at his hands. He doesn’t want to be here, but he can’t figure out where he wants to be. Home, curled under the covers next to his twinkling fairy lights and empty wine bottle display and pile of half-finished canvases, a few blocks away? Home, curled under the covers next to his martial arts and bboying trophies and bookshelf filled with baby photo albums and figurines he keeps only for sentimentality’s sake, an ocean away?

He hears footsteps approaching, the soft thump of rubber against wood growing louder and louder. He hears the twist of a doorknob, the soft click of a door swinging shut, a body’s movement stopping in front of his. Minghao doesn’t look up.

“Hyung…” Hansol’s voice is quiet and careful. Still, it echoes in the empty room. “Are you okay?”

Minghao closes his eyes, lets his head fall backward until it hits the mirror with a light thud. Hansol drops down, sits beside him, rests his head in the crook of Minghao’s neck. Hansol doesn’t initiate touch often, is not one of the members who is known for loving skinship, but he’s always known how to help people, how to help Minghao. It’s been five years since he’s moved to Korea, and yet, Minghao still has trouble asking for help at times, for the physical contact that he has learned grounds him, that he craves sometimes just as much as the fans do.

“Aww, are you worried about me?” Minghao teases lightly.

Hansol laughs, more a puff of breath than anything else, before he says, “I’m always worrying about you, hyung.”

A pause.

“Wait, I didn’t-”

“I know you don’t like showing your emotions, Nonie, but you can’t take this back,” Minghao grins. “I know you meant it.”

“Whatever,” Hansol mumbles, embarrassment stamped clearly in every syllable.

They’re quiet again. It’s not uncomfortable, the silence. It never has been when it comes to Hansol. He’s always had a way about him that calms Minghao down like nothing else.

“You never did answer my question,” Hansol reminds him gently. He takes one of Minghao’s hands in his, intertwines their fingers. He smooths his thumb over the back of Minghao’s hand, soothing, like he’s sorry for bringing up the topic of Minghao’s discomfort again.

Minghao opens his eyes, finally. He leans his head to the side so that his cheek rests against Hansol’s hair. Hansol, in response, snuggles further into the crook of his neck. Minghao smiles.

He looks down at his fingers, tangled with Hansol’s. He feels settled, taken care of, loved. He feels at home, for a moment, before the uneasiness from before Hansol entered the room comes back, full force.

“I guess I’m just feeling a little homesick,” Minghao mumbles.

Hansol hums in acknowledgement. “Have you talked to Junnie-hyung about it?”

“Sometimes.” Minghao picks at one of the rips in his jeans. “But not this time. I can tell that he’s happy right now. Content. I don’t wanna make him miss home, too.”

It’s not like he’s trying to make Hansol miss home either, but it’s different with Hansol. Minghao thinks that he and Jun are too similar, when it comes to things like this. They know almost exactly how the other feels and that is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing, to be so innately understood in a sea of people who don’t _get it_ ; a curse, to not quite have another opinion, another set of experiences to consider.

“I’m sorry you can’t go back to China to celebrate the New Year with your family,” Hansol whispers, breath tickling Minghao’s exposed collarbone.

“I never understood why people apologize in situations like this,” Minghao chuckles weakly. “It’s not like you’re barring my exit from Korea and entry to China. It’s not your fault. I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Hansol doesn’t say anything, but Minghao can feel the way Hansol’s cheeks lift as he smiles.

“Do you ever feel like… guilty? For doing what we do?” Minghao wonders out loud.

Maybe that’s what the problem is: guilt. Guilt because Minghao knows that he’s not being the best son he could be to his parents, by not being there for them, even if they know and he knows that being in Seventeen is fulfilling his dream. Guilt because sometimes, during the high of a performance or the surprise of winning an award or the adrenaline of a new release, Minghao forgets about China, forgets about his old room and his bookshelf and his life before Korea, and is happier than he can even begin to describe. The guilt of forgetting, of not remembering where he’s from… maybe that’s the worst, Minghao thinks.

“Not really,” Hansol answers. Simple. Easy. Minghao wishes that were him. “Why? Do you?”

“Sometimes….” Minghao sighs. “Sometimes, I think about China and I miss my parents and I hate that I can’t be with them as often as I would like, but when I think about Seventeen and what we’ve done so far and what we’re doing right now and everything we’re going to do…. Well, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Like, I wouldn’t trade being home right now for not being here.”

As soon as the words leave Minghao’s mouth, he cringes. It doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t know how else to describe it, the longing for somewhere he can call _his_ , the ache he feels when he realizes that he used to have that, but he gave it up for this. For fame. For glory.

“So… you’re homesick, but you don’t wanna go home?” Hansol asks. He sounds incredibly confused. Minghao, similarly, feels incredibly confused.

“No, I do…. Actually, no, I don’t know. That’s the problem, too, I think.” Minghao groans, frustrated. It’s moments like these where he hates this godforsaken language and his inability to express himself properly in it. But, then again, he doubts that he’d be able to better explain in Chinese the reason for the knot of discomfort in his chest. “Sometimes, I think, ‘Oh, I’d really like to go home’ and the home I mean is our dorm. Sometimes, I think, ‘Oh, I’d really like to go home’ and I mean my childhood home, my parents’ house in Anshan. And I feel bad for thinking of both—especially when I think of one first, before the other—because it’s like I’m betraying my parents, who raised me, and also you guys, who have accepted me with open arms.”

Hansol doesn’t speak for a while, contemplating. When he does, his voice is purposeful, determined.

“Y’know, I don’t remember a lot from when I moved to Korea from New York, but I can tell you for certain that there are still moments when I don’t feel like I belong here. Which, I mean, is kind of stupid because I always say that, at this point, I’m more culturally Korean than American. But everyone loves to point out the fact that I’m mixed and school was its own little hell and variety shows, _god_ , _variety shows_ , are fucking terrible and make me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Except then I hang out with you guys, with the members, and I feel fine again. Or I call my parents and sister and feel okay, like I belong somewhere, like I have every right to be here.” He takes a breath. “This is gonna sound super cliché, but it’s all made me realize that home, at least to me, isn’t a country or a physical location. I mean, sure there _can_ be physical locations that we consider ‘home’ and I definitely have actual places that I consider ‘home,’ but like…. I think it’s more of a feeling. If you wanna think of a home as a place, then I think home is just wherever we’re most comfortable and safe. And I think we can feel the same level of comfort and safety for different reasons in different places, and also miss those different places for those different reasons, depending on what we need at the time.”

Minghao doesn’t respond, just thinks about the truth of Hansol’s words and lets them roll around in his head.

“Home doesn’t have to be just one place, hyung,” Hansol says softly, voice reassuring.

More than one home. More than one home?

And Minghao thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it.

He thinks about being home, in Anshan, and the relief he feels when he steps through the threshold to find that nothing has changed. His parents still adore him and dote on him and do everything in their power so that he can be happy pursuing what he loves. He thinks about being home, in Anshan, and the old lady who sells 糖葫芦 from her cart, who’s been there since he was in elementary school and still greets him with a smile whenever he has the time to make the trip back. He thinks about being home, in Anshan, and he feels like he’s wrapped in cotton clouds, cushioned and safe from harm.

He thinks about being home, in Seoul, and the serenity he feels when he flops gracelessly onto his bed after a grueling day of schedules. His members are with him, always, offering encouragement and distractions, suffering through practice after practice and event after event. He thinks about being home, in Seoul, and that restaurant they always go to for his birthday and wine nights in his room and acting like kids whenever they can. He thinks about being home, in Seoul, and he feels like he’s got on a suit of armor, his protective band of brothers.

“I hope you feel comfortable and safe with us.”

Minghao squeezes Hansol’s hand: _I do_ , the action says. He does.

“I hope we’ve made a home for you,” Hansol murmurs.

When Minghao responds, there’s no more doubt in his voice, only conviction. He knows his answer, knows it will never change.

“You have.”

**Author's Note:**

> i fever wrote this (quite literally, i'm sick right now) in a day and it is, as with everything i write, unbeta'd, so please forgive any stupid mistakes :S also i did not do james baldwin justice, pls don't kill me for using a quote from him as my summary !
> 
> this is kind of a short little precursor to what i would consider my ~actual~ bbb fic, but i really do love verhao a lot, so i hope carats will accept my contribution to the verhao ficdom :) the prompt i filled was: homesick but no idea where home is
> 
> title inspo from [overseas 海外 by bohan phoenix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTUmEFdutTY) ! the vague plot of this fic is not exactly related to the lyrics of the song, other than they’re both kind of about chinese diasporas
> 
>   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/maddogmp3) || [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/maddogmp3)


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